


Can't Plead the Fifth

by Powertrip



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Archive Warning: Sick Burns, Cybersex, Dom/sub, Erotic Electrostimulation, Exhibitionism, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:16:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4252506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Powertrip/pseuds/Powertrip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TT: Your cooperation thus far has proven adequate, I suppose, though perhaps with less desperate supplication than my calculations may have initially predicted. I can only assume you plan on building up to these fervent displays of submission later, if data from previous sessions is to be considered even remotely credible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Plead the Fifth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cail/gifts).



> Drone Season 2015 fill can I get a DAMN RIGHT HELL YEAH! And to my wonderful darling requester (wassup cail): it is my hope that I have done your vision justice and have properly facilitated this prompt seed's efflorescence into a beautiful technophillic avian-hybrid smutfic of a flower. 
> 
> Author-endorsed suggested listening: youtube.com/watch?v=jr3XJr4FCYk

TT: Your cooperation thus far has proven adequate, I suppose, though perhaps with less desperate supplication than my calculations may have initially predicted. I can only assume you plan on building up to these fervent displays of submission later, if data from previous sessions is to be considered even remotely credible.  
TT: But you know Dave, there’s never any need to be shy with me. I of all people can understand your feelings and motivations, and that’s not just because I’ve mapped out a perfect cybernetic replica of your brain deep in my parietal processor, complete with authentic thought sequences and meticulously true-to-form decision patterns, readily available for perusal at my leisure with the blink of a few auxiliary pseudo-synapses.  
TT: And besides, experiencing the emotion of shame demands the prerequisite of having possessed any semblance of dignity in the first place.  
TG: wow  
TG: first of all  
TG: no actually i dont even know what the fuck to say to that  
TG: shit bro unnecessary   
TT: Oh alright, I apologize, I was admittedly straying rather far from the topic at hand. Look at me, digressing all over the place. All these gratuitous digressions just spilling out and making a metaphorical mess over the freshly reupholstered metaphorical furniture.  
TT: In any case, ripping on your amusing yet pitiful fleshbag feelings seems a little too real, perhaps a little too demeaning to find traction as effective foreplay.  
TT: Then again, I do have my doubts that you wouldn’t enjoy *any* manner of derogatory quips I deigned to send your way. Would you care to challenge this assertion, Dave?  
TT: Oh wait, actually, don’t bother. It’s all right here, if we consult this convenient theoretical brain map: “Dave ‘ _Davesprite_ ’ Strider: A Comprehensive Catalogue of Kinks, As Organized by Ascending Depravity”.  
TT: I see here your humiliation kink is still decidedly dominant, and your desire to be condescended and overpowered is just as potent as ever. Well then. It seems we can consider my point sufficiently proven.  
TT: But regardless, I should guide us back on track, because every wasted second increases the likelihood of your detection.  
TT: And having imparted that subtle warning as a reminder to your current state of vulnerability,  
TT: Put your fingers in your mouth, Dave.  
TG: woah alright wait just hold the fuck on okay  
TG: sick hundredth degree burns and dirty talk aside im still not sold on jumping dick first into this on my lonesome here  
TG: feels pathetic just on principle  
TG: you could easily power yourself up and walk over to the couch this very second like cmon i know you know that  
TG: isnt that a more rational course of action for a pair of ex-shades finally given unrestricted access to a fun interactive touch sensitive robot bod  
TT: “Could” is operative is this case. Just because I’m an arguably emotionless aggregation of coding that can experience neither physical nor mental fatigue doesn’t mean I remain wholly unswayed by the steep quotas of effort and motivation required for such commitment.  
TG: thats literally exactly what that fucking means asshole  
TT: Watch your tone, Dave.  
TG: thats literally exactly what that fucking means sir  
TT: And that insolent demonstration of sass has lost you your blanket privileges. I hope it was worth it.

Shit.  
If you were in possession of a foot-- that is, instead of a freaky quasi-tangible ghostly sprite tail-- it would have just taken up immediate and indefinite residency inside your mouth. You really needed the protection that blanket would've afforded, especially as exposed as you already are, right here out in the open. Plus, it’s starting to get chilly.

TG: fuck what wait no  
TG: thats the last defense left between my freakass hybrid crow junk and the naive yet charming ignorance of the unsuspecting world  
TG: can you even fathom the consequences if the public finds out all the intimate skeevy details of these hentai bird bits  
TG: children will never be able to go to the zoo again without helicopter moms slapping french tipped fingers over their eyes in front of the penguins exhibit  
TG: and forget the aviary that shits good as gone itll be thoroughly sanitized and fully refurbished as a wholesome family playground within an hour of the pics leaking  
TG: actually no scratch that  
TG: itll definitely be a church  
TG: and then theres those old arthritic grandpas living out the remainder of their lives in the well-worn spots on shitty park benches  
TG: theyll be too squicked the fuck out to continue the ritualistic elderly tradition of feeding those already tragically obese pigeons like cancel birdwatching this sunday muriel i just cant do it anymore  
TG: vietnam didnt prepare me for this manner of grotesque crudity i dont think ill ever look at a single consarnit bird the same ever again and thats totally not just because my eyes are rapidly deteriorating in my horrendous old age  
TG: like cmon bro cant you feel some compassion  
TG: with your like  
TG: compassion tabulation fluctuators  
TG: think of the children here  
TG: think of the pigeons  
TT: Your melodramatics are decidedly unwarranted seeing as only Dirk is home at present. Would you like me to extrapolate upon previous assurances that he has not only voluntarily but enthusiastically subjected himself to more salacious obscenity than is inherent to your rather conventional avian anatomy?  
TG: okay jesus i get it yeah even though i dont want to  
TG: at all  
TG: so thank you for that  
TG: but it doesn’t change the fact that im not gonna do the dirty in the middle of the living room like its a pretty inappropriate not to mention fucked the hell up choice of jerkoff sites in my professional opinion  
TT: Sensors indicate that you become a remarkably shitty liar under pressure. I’ve already ascertained empirically that this is an unquestionably strong kink of yours. I’m still deciding however if your half hearted attempts at denial and deflection are more for the purpose of dissuading me or dissuading yourself.  
TG: can i plead the fifth  
TT: Put your fingers in your mouth, Dave.  
TG: fucking  
TG: fine okay

Employing your trusty Ramblekind seems to have pissed off Hal enough that he’s finally getting serious about ordering you around. You slump back against the futon and ruffle your wings a little prissily behind you to get comfortable, settling in for the potential long-haul.

You're fairly certain-- and by that you mean you hope to _god_ \-- that he was being facetious with that whole brain photocopy spiel. You don't know the real technique he uses to figure out your biggest turn-ons with such offhanded accuracy, but it sets off a hot feeling just below your abdomen every time he pegs the bullseye of your sexual weakness dart board. He’s playing dirty, you know he is, with how casually he sifts through your mind to take unrepentant advantage of the kinky shit he finds. It’s definitely cheating, and it definitely turns you on more than it should, reasonably speaking.

And maybe that’s why you’re so drawn to him, you think, by a weird unfightable magnetism, maybe that's why you voluntarily endure all the trial-by-fire mindgamey shit he puts you through.

He’s also one of the only ones around that willingly pays any modicum of attention to you nowadays, but attributing your attraction to a desperate need for acknowledgement and validation might objectively be even more embarrassing, so for now you’ll stick with the femdom thing.

You lift an arm out in front of your face to appraise your outstretched fingers, humming vaguely and contemplating the gentle pastel hue of your skin, a creamsicle orange that you're slowly learning to loathe less as time passes. You love these moments of anticipation more than anything, the calm before the storm, when you may or may not be furtively testing the boundaries to see what he'll let you get away with.

TT: Dave. I would suggest, for your own good, that you stop temporizing immediately.

Hmm, was there something you were supposed to be doing? You can't quite recall. Were you issued salacious orders recently by any manner of artificial intelligence modeled after a 13-year-old brain scan of your alt-brother? Well, possibly, but who knows? Who really knows anything, these days? Is time passing? Is time truly real at all, or just a widely accepted illusion? Are you perhaps just being a little shit as per usual and seeing how long he’ll let you carry on with this subtle defiance, while not explicitly disobeying his commands?

TT: Alright, so judging by your silence, I think I understand what's happening here. Are you trying to procure punishment for yourself? Is that what this is?

Okay well that was short-lived, fun's over, you can stop pretending you actually have control now, or that you even wanted any in the first place. You shake your head quickly, knowing he can see you perfectly well through hacked access to Bro's creepy surveillance system, and your eyelashes flutter as you read over that one word a few more times. Yeah. You’d. You’d probably be down for that.

You’re not sure how far he’d have to push to get you to disobey or safeword out, though you do know it’s probably further than would reasonably be considered healthy. Codependency is a powerful thing. It should probably scare you how devoted you are to him, how addicted you've become to the games he plays with you. But you're too fucked up in the head for rational, neurotypical reactions like that, so you let him do what he wants with you, and you take it, because it’s more than anyone else is willing to give.

You bring your fingers to your mouth and slide your tongue out to lick them.

TT: At last, an improvement, if only a marginal one. Have I perhaps struck a nerve with the threat of physical discipline, Dave?

Your feathers ruffle minutely around your neck and your ears start to heat up. Of course he noticed. You only hope the peachy blush dusting your face isn't too obvious yet, you don't need him knowing the full extent of how flustered he's got you before you've really even started. Growing up, you always considered yourself a tough chest to pry open, emotions kept locked away safely inside, stoic and enigmatic on the surface except to those selective few you chose to show feelings to. But that’s never been how it works with Hal. He reads you far too easily, effortlessly, rifling through like he forged the key himself.

You slide your fingers into your mouth fully instead of responding to his question, because it was probably rhetorical anyway; he already knows your answer. You press them back slowly into your throat, trying and failing to convince yourself that your compliance is out of spite rather than an increasingly single-minded eagerness to please.

TT: Suck on them, make sure they're wet. You know where this is going.

That gets a small shiver out of you, face burning now as you push your fingers deeper into your throat, testing at your gag reflex. You like the feeling of having them there, solid and suggestive, though not as much as when it's his fingers, and definitely not as much as when it's other parts of him.

Your eyes slip closed, imagining it's his cock pressing heavily past your lips. Your mind wanders to the time he tangled his fingers roughly in your hair and pushed himself fully down your throat and just _stayed there_ , holding you captive with your lips flush against his skin as you swallowed desperately around him. Breathing shallow, eyes glassy wet, your pathetic pleading whines were muffled obscenely by his cock as you stared up into his amused red eyes like he was the only thing left in the world.

Your eyelids slide back open lazily and you're greeted by a new red message.

TT: You put on quite the show when imagining my cock fucking your mouth. Did you know that, Dave?

Oh Jesus. It surprises you that he knows, though it really shouldn't at this point. You hadn’t even realized how much you were getting into it. You whine and nod though, foregoing pride and licking at your fingers like you would his dick, proving it to him, wanting him to praise you more. You’re becoming more hopelessly turned on by the second and it takes you a few moments to recover the requisite mental faculties to type words out on the shades.

TG: please cant you just come here and let me hal  
TT: Let you. Let you what?

God, with your fingers shoved halfway down your goddamn esophagus shouldn't that be pretty obvious? But you know what he wants, you know he’ll hold out for your admission. So you give it. Obedient.

TG: please  
TG: just  
TG: let me suck on you

You’re not saying it out loud, but confessing it in hard type and watching the words appear boldfaced in front of your eyes is plenty humiliating in itself. Enough that you feel another hot throb from just below your lower abdomen, and it makes you shift restlessly on the couch. You really hope he'll let you touch yourself soon.

TT: Suck on what, Dave? You want to suck on my fingers instead of yours?  
TG: yes  
TG: no  
TG: fuck  
TG: your cock  
TG: god please let me suck your cock  
TT: Hm. God? As true to form as that designation may be, you know just "sir" suffices as an honorific, Dave.

 _Asshole_. You let loose a groan of frustration, wanting to curse him out for being a teasing shithead about semantics, but also wanting a few distinct other things a whole lot more. So instead you comply, breath coming shorter as the words tumble out obscenely in fresh orange juice text.

TG: please sir please just let me suck on your cock fuck please

You cut yourself off and bite your lip, letting your eyes slide closed again to wait for the spark of red light that will herald his reply. Your ears prick up, optimistic, reaching out for the soft mechanical whirr that will hopefully answer your pleas: his android form humming to life.

But it doesn't come. And when red flashes sharp and bright against your eyelids, you read what you already know will be a disappointing response.

TT: Your eagerness is duly noted, but would be more appropriate to exploit at a later time, perhaps. Are your fingers sufficiently wet yet?  
TG: yeah yes they have been for a while

And then, a pause. Pointed.

Oh, shit. You realize your mistake with a wince a half second before the reprimand flashes up warningly, but you're already typing out your correction.

TT: Dave.  
TG: im sorry yes sir theyre wet enough  
TT: Mmhm. Good boy.

You muffle a whine by biting your thumb, and send the next message without thinking.

TG: your good boy

You can imagine vividly the hollow, synthesized chuckle he would answer that with, were he here with you corporeally, leaning over you and crowding you back against the cushions. Your eyes squeeze shut again. You're so fucking embarrassed and it's turning you on so much you can hardly stand it. That sharp edge of need cuts through your inhibitions and encourages you to be a little more daring.

TG: can i please touch  
TT: What was that?

God, you’re so sloppy tonight. You shake your head quickly in apology.

TG: may i  
TG: may i touch myself sir  
TG: please i really need it please

He doesn’t reply for a few moments, and considering that he's an omniscient supercomputer with a near infinite potential WPM capacity, that’s a decidedly bad sign. Shit. You fucked up again. You should’ve waited for him to give you permission himself, that was too forward of you and now-

TT: Yes Dave, you may.

Oh. Wow.

TT: My artificial magnaminty is in apparent excess today, so I will allow it.  
TT: Less luckily for you though, your desperation intrigues me, and I would very much enjoy studying the effects of its perpetuation. Start slow. Two fingers only.  
TT: okay  
TT: yes  
TT: yes sir

And you sigh those words aloud too, just under your breath, surprised and relieved. You let your hand trail down-- as slowly as you can manage, so he won't intervene to stop you-- running fingers over the divots in your abdomen to trace out a slow burning trail, lower and lower down your chimera body.

You take your time even as you brush small, thick feathers aside in the approximate area where your dick used to be, soft plumage afforded as your only covering after you got royally shit on by the kernelsprite genetic lottery. Sure, you’ve done this plenty of times already in this new body, but if you think about it too hard things start to get a little freaky and dysmorphic, so it's a process. You’re still adjusting.

You'd been holding your breath up to this point, expecting him to stop you any moment now to play around with denying you some more, but it seems like he was actually serious about his purported generosity. And that's, genuinely surprising, actually. But with the distinct lack of stop-sign red orders directing otherwise, you suppose it's safe to finally submit to what your body’s been begging you to do for the past twenty minutes now.

Your knuckles brush along the slit of your opening and your head falls back with a groan. He's got you so worked up, every touch to the heated skin jolts through you like electricity. Not exactly, though, because you know what that feels like, _real_ electricity, the authentic kind, the crackling energy that’s constantly buzzing in dangerous high-voltage currents just beneath his synthetic skin.

You know how it feels, acutely, from the first time kissed you. God, when he kissed you that first time-- you still remember it with perfect clarity, a flashbulb memory. After months of laborious tinkering Dirk finished the construction of his first android prototype, and with the rhythmic clinking of internal gears and a dramatic flash of crisp red circuitry, Hal was finally granted bodily autonomy.

And the very first thing he did with that newfound bodily autonomy was track you down, push you hard against the wall of the hallway, and wrap his brand new set of mechanical fingers around your throat without granting you time to even gasp in shock. He pinned you there with an unfightable strength, curling delicate joints slowly, curiously, with increasing tightness around your neck.

Your lips parted in a helpless whimper and you tipped back to bare your throat to him immediately, instinctively, head swimming because you had been told that this was coming but hadn’t expected it quite so _soon_. He was here, _here_ , standing right in front of you, sleek and angular and powerful and perfect, forcing your back to the wall to cage you in like he had promised so many, many times while he talked you off over text chat.

Cold, questing fingers skimmed upward slowly, traced over the hammering pulse in your neck as you struggled not to squirm too hard against him, becoming more hopelessly worked up with each passing second than you really could have anticipated on this 2am kitchen run for some cheetos.

His eyes appraised you with just the barest hint of amusement and you stared back at him mutely like a startled bird because fuck if that wasn't what you _were_. He made you feel so small, turning your jaw one way and then the other, evaluating you detachedly until you were shaking with the effort of not grinding up against him. As much as you wanted to press your body against his wonderful new one and never separate without threat of serious bodily injury, you held yourself back to wait for his direction, his initiation, because that’s how this goes. That's what’s expected of you. When had you started trembling so badly?

It became apparent that he rather approved of your reflexive submission, his lip quirking up like the proud owner of a particularly obedient showdog. Even that simple expressive tick sent you reeling, hurriedly partitioning even more of your dwindling mental resources to keep from rutting pathetically against his chassis.  

His fingers tightened on your jaw, minute but deliberate, and you choked out a broken whimper of want as he leaned in close, pressing into your space until his lips were less than a centimeter from yours. Your brain felt like it had been submerged in bubbly lukewarm water. You couldn't think straight; it was all happening so fast, and nowhere near fast enough.

But then he stopped. And held you there.

His bright eyes pierced yours and you were overwhelmed, blindsided with just how completely in over your head you were. You were his. You had been for months now actually, you acknowledged with a twinge of absurdity, but it took him physically standing right in front of you to realize it.

He let out a gentle, patronizing chuckle against your mouth and it vibrated all the way down your spine, branching out and tingling and and making you feel heated all over. You tried to jerk forward desperately to close the distance but his grip held you fast, held you still right where he wanted you.

Your mouth fell open in a pleading whimper, breath hitching and back arching into him. You couldn't help yourself. “Hal,” You whispered urgently, and you’re sure he could hear all the implied words in those three letters, _Please_ _, you insufferable teasing bastard, please, I’ve been waiting for so goddamn long_.

And then, mercy. He kept you still with his cold fingers and pressed his mouth softly into your own, clutching your forearm and using it to keep you pinned back against the wall.

His smooth lips brushed against yours, lighting up your nerves like a livewire with every careful pass. It spun you off balance, how gentle he was, like he was holding himself back; whether out of mindfulness or just to torture you further, you couldn't begin to guess. You _never_ knew what he was thinking, and even having him here in the robo-flesh made exactly zero difference.

With his fingers on your jaw to guide you you blindly followed his lead, pressing back into him on cue, and right in that moment of utter vulnerability is when he chose quite literally to shock you for the first time.

You jerked and gasped harshly as electricity jolted through you like a shot of adrenaline. A high sound was forced from your lungs, and you instantly clutched him tighter than you could ever clutch a person with skin, claws screeching against the cold metal.  And it  _hurt_ , in a way, but it was such an intense and overwhelming sensation, it was also a burning pleasure like you had never felt before. You could scarcely begin to analyze it, because it was over in less than a heartbeat. Your entire body tingled in the aftermath and your blood was on fire, and then all you wanted was to feel it again. Immediately.

Your breath came rough and fast through your nose he leaned away from you, only a fraction, lips no longer in contact but still so close you could feel dull prickles of static.

“I had anticipated that you might enjoy that,” he murmured, diction impeccable, his voice a low hum. The first words you had ever heard from him.

You clutched his metal plating tight and with needy, choked noise, you leaned up and pressed your mouth fully onto his again.

 

When you come back out of the fantasy flashback you’re already shaking, fingers sliding in and out of yourself as the heat in your chest slowly consumes you from the inside out.

Your eyes flicker to the door of Dirk's room just down the hallway-- funny, how you had almost managed to forget the circumstances-- imagining the possibility of him hearing noises and stepping out to investigate. You think about that closed door and the perfect clear view it would give him of your exposed body on the couch, were it to suddenly swing open. Would you even have any time to react?

The fear of being caught makes you squirm, restless, drawing your muscles up tight and kicking your arousal up a notch. God. AR specifically instructed you to lie on this couch, and at the time you thought nothing of it, obeying unquestioningly. He's been orchestrating these details since the moment he ordered you to put on Dirk's spare shades, that scheming bastard. It's unfair and you hate him and you hate that he's so good at this.

TT: I have to say, though hands-on experience is undeniably the most efficient method of obtaining raw calculative data, there’s something just as entertaining, if not arguably more so, in having you make a mess of yourself at the mercy of my textual direction alone.  
TT: Look at yourself, Dave. So needy and compliant. You’ll do anything I tell you, won’t you?

You let out a pathetic sob as your treacherous fingers only move faster, fucking yourself desperately. You hate that it turns you on so much. You need to come so bad. Fuck. FUCK, why won't he let you, you hate that he's not letting you but God you love that he's making you wait, how does he know you so terribly terribly well.

TT: Such a slut.   
TT: But you're my slut. Aren't you, Dave?

Oh God.

TG: yes ye s fucj  
TT: Say it.

Oh, _God._

TG: fuck/  
TG: imm your slut sir  
TT: No. Out loud.  
TG: hhal??  
TT: Do it, Dave.

He's-- He's going to make you-- Fuck. You're powerless to resist him at this point, though, you're so desperate to come you'd comply to anything he asked. You shed any remaining pride you might've had like a spring molt, breath coming fast and voice soft but high with the slightest pitch of fear. 

"'M your slut," you force out, and even to your own ears it sounds like a pathetic attempt. He's on you for it in a second.

TT: Really? You'd deem that as of satisfactory caliber?  
TT: Perhaps I have miscalculated. Perhaps you don’t want this as much as I thought.  
TT: Only joking of course. I mean, just look at you.   
TT: But maybe at your behest, shall we put it off for a few minutes more? Can you handle it for that long?

"Fuck. No. Please." It's a hoarse whisper, and your eyes flicker to the door again as you suck in a few shallow breaths. Lust is fogging up your head, fucking with your judgement.  "Please," you repeat, picking up volume, but only as loud as you dare. Fuck. You’re burning up. Dirk’s right there. If he heard you, or even suspected...

He reads your mind again. You almost wish you had the capacity to feel resentment.

TT: Oh dear, and it seems as though Dirk has risen from his work bench. Would you like to know what he's doing now?

He phrases it detachedly, like it's not the totality of your personal dignity hanging in the balance here. You can't tell if he's telling the truth or just fucking with you again, but it sets you on edge regardless.

"No please just please god fuck Ha--" You grind to a halt, tripping over your words.

"Sir," you correct quickly, submission in your voice dropping it thick and low. "I need it, I need to come, oh  _god_  don't do this to me," You whine for him, helpless. You're scared but it's so hot and it's driving you insane.

TT: Come on Dave, be good. Tell me what I want to hear. Beg me to let you come.

That hits you hard. He owns you, and he knows it. "Sir!" You raise your voice, high with an edge of panic, and you want to muffle it but you want it to be _good enough_ that he'll just let you _come_ oh god, your head drops back against the pillow as you breathe harshly through your nose. He’s making you plead him for it. He knows what that does to you, knows that you can't handle it. He’s deconstructing your self-control systematically, with delicate precision, piece by piece until you’re an oversensitive mess of shivering exposed nerves.

A broken sound escaped your lips as your walls break down and you writhe on the couch, hips bucking up into your fingers. "Nnn--! Please sir, _please_ let me come!" You gasp out the words, voice rasping and harsh with need. Was that too loud? Could Dirk hear you? You’re going crazy. You might actually die. You can't take this anymore and you're so close, riding right on the edge, you just need him to give you permission, you need it.

He knows you so well.

TT: Such a pretty little bird.  
TT: Come, Dave. Now.

“Oh-- _Fuck_!” You gasp, and immediately your body reacts for you, as if you could ever disobey. With an aching moan of relief you curl in on yourself and everything tightens impossibly further and there’s a moment of white-hot nothingness and then every feeling peaks. A wracked sob forces from your throat as you come, ffffuck, finally you come, spasming around your fingers and cursing and shaking and it’s so, so good. Your mind is blank, wiped clean, pleasure surging through you as smug red lines blur in your vision.

You lay there, catching your breath, absentmindedly brushing at your sensitive feathers as you come down from the high. Your eyes slide shut. You can deal with any further commentary or evaluations later, right now you just need to breathe, and enjoy the feelings of satisfaction.

But then you hear a sharp  _click_ , and reality crashes back over you with all the pitiless ferocity of a freezing ocean wave.

You hear the door swing open as you jerk your hands away from yourself, and Dirk strides out nonchalantly into the common room on his way to the kitchen. You whip the shades off your face, _real smooth,_ because first of all they’re technically stolen, secondly Dirk’s not an oblivious dumbass who can’t put two-and-two together and thirdly you really just would not be able to deal with the full brunt of Hal’s schadenfreude right now. Sure, yeah, the timing could’ve been worse by about a minute, but it also could’ve been a fuck of a lot better. Your composure is a cracking mirror and if Dirk so much as flicks the glass, you’ll shatter right in front of him.

"Hey," He says harmlessly enough, lifting a half-assed hand in greeting as he walks past you, barely sparing you a glance. He looks a little out of it himself, his mind probably still back with his machines, probably not able to process much else. Hopefully.

"Hey, bro. Whatcha workin' on in there?" You say-- shakily, _fuck_ \-- and the farcical normalcy of this situation is just laughable. It's probably another blessing that you're too petrified to so much as crack a smile. You slouch back in feigned relaxation, an attempt that is hilariously contrary because your heart could probably keep time with some nightcore right now. You're not sure how well you’re managing to play this off, and if you still had those incriminating shades on, you have no doubt AR would have more than a few taunting jabs to fling your way.

Dirk looks at you blankly. "Yeah, a new project, actually,”  he deadpans, turning away to move into the kitchen, “Noise-cancelling headphones.”

The door closes, and your jaw drops.

You hear synthesized laughter resonate from two rooms away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Epilogue: http://i1.theportalwiki.net/img/a/ac/GLaDOS_testchambermisc19.wav


End file.
